The rain was relentless, cold as hell and twice as dirty, soaking through Luka's collar and sending rivulets trickling down his back. It felt like Iron City was clawing its way into his bones with each step. Moving through shadowed alleys, Luka slipped away from the scene he'd just witnessed. Every flickering light above was a half-dead beacon, casting broken halos over the wet pavement, while shadows pooled thick and dark around him—like the city itself was hiding something.
He adjusted his coat and shifted the holster at his hip, feeling the cold press into his skin through damp fabric. That encounter clung to him like the rain, the man's veins pulsing in that sick rhythm, his words lingering like a curse. Nothing can stop what's coming.
The words hung in his mind, heavier than the rain. He didn't know what was coming, but he knew that face wouldn't let him sleep tonight.
A set of headlights broke through the fog at the end of the alley, a spike of tension running down Luka's spine. He ducked back, pressing himself against the cold brick wall, listening to the low hum of the engine as it rolled past. He waited, counting the seconds until it was safe to move again. When the light disappeared around the corner, he eased back into his pace, keeping his movements tight, each step calculated to stay unseen.
The memory of that man's hollow eyes wouldn't leave him, sticking like the rain itself. Luka didn't scare easily—Iron City had burned that out of him years ago—but this felt different. This wasn't just another job, another paycheck. There was something darker lurking in that man's final words, scratching at the back of his mind with every step.
He rounded a corner, catching his reflection in a rain-slicked window—a ghost in a trench coat, hair matted to his forehead, eyes as weary and hollow as the streets. For a second, he barely recognized himself, just another piece of the city's decay staring back at him.
Another set of headlights approached, moving slower this time, casting long beams over the wet pavement. Luka slipped into a narrow side passage, pressing himself into the shadows as the car passed. The stench of rust and stale piss clung to the alley walls, thick and sour. He held his breath, listening to the engine hum as the car crept past, tires skimming over puddles. He didn't move until the sound faded, leaving him alone with the rain and the city's quiet menace.
The bio-augmented man's hollow eyes hovered in his mind, daring him to look closer, to dig into the darkness that Iron City buried so well. Nothing can stop what's coming. It echoed louder than the rain, seeping under his skin, sticking like the cold that wouldn't leave his bones.
Every shadow felt thicker tonight, like it was hiding something just out of sight. Luka couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone—that something in this city was watching him, something deeper and darker than headlights or passing cars. He spat onto the wet pavement, watching as the rain washed it away. In a city like this, you couldn't get by on good intentions and clean hands. You needed to know when to look away and when to step into the shadows.
Finally, he reached a derelict building he used as a shortcut sometimes, an abandoned place with shattered windows and walls scarred by graffiti. He ducked under the overhang, shaking some of the water off his coat, feeling the fabric cling unpleasantly to his skin. He'd head to the safehouse, dry off, and try to shake the chill.
But the man's words crawled under his skin, daring him to look deeper. In Iron City, nothing stayed buried for long—and he had a feeling this time, he'd be the one digging.
The Rusty Nail felt heavier inside than the air outside, thick with the stale tang of spilled whiskey and cheap tobacco smoke curling under dull, flickering lights. It wasn't the kind of place where people talked much; the silence here settled over the regulars like smoke, a shared pact that nobody cared to break. In Iron City, bars like this were sanctuaries for men who'd seen too much and wanted to remember even less.
Luka pushed through the door, water dripping off his coat as he moved through the haze and slid onto a stool. Gus, the wiry bartender with a face as lined as the cracked leather barstools, gave Luka a nod, a silent acknowledgment, and poured him a whiskey without a word. Luka took a slow sip, feeling the burn cut through the chill in his bones.
A minute later, the door creaked open. The kid slipped inside, moving like he was trying to disappear even as he walked. Ragged hoodie pulled tight, face partially hidden, eyes darting to every corner of the bar like he expected to be thrown out at any moment. He spotted Luka, hesitated, then shuffled over, sliding onto the stool beside him with the jittery energy of a cornered animal.
"The message got through?" the kid asked, his voice low and shaky.
Luka didn't look at him, swirling his glass as he replied, "I got it. Better be worth my time."
The kid's knee bounced against the stool, his fingers twitching toward the crumpled bills on the bar, glancing at Luka's face before he dared to speak again. "Look… I don't know much. But people are talking. Bodies turning up, but… they're not right. Augments. Wires. Things that don't belong, you know?"
At the mention of augmented bodies, a muscle tightened along Luka's jaw. He didn't shift or blink, but the chill in his gut rooted him to the spot. The kid was confirming what Luka feared, but he hadn't expected to hear about people who mattered—corporate types, soldiers. That was new. That was dangerous.
"Go on," Luka muttered, masking his unease with a tone flat as iron.
The kid swallowed, eyes darting to the door. "It's the syndicate. They're… experimenting. And it's not just the usual grunts or slum rats. They're taking people who matter, people in the higher ranks. It's like… nobody's safe."
Luka's fingers tapped lightly on the bar, a barely noticeable rhythm that belied the tension building in his chest. He hadn't heard this angle before. The syndicate reaching beyond its usual prey meant they were desperate—or maybe reckless. In Iron City, either was a recipe for chaos.
"Anything else?" Luka's voice was calm, but the weight behind it made the kid shrink back a little.
The kid scratched his neck, looking over his shoulder. "They say something big's coming. Some kind of… new tech or a weapon. Whatever it is, it's got people spooked. I've heard guys say they're thinking of skipping town. Leaving Iron City."
Luka scoffed. "Leaving Iron City." The words felt bitter on his tongue. People didn't leave this city, not unless they wanted to end up face-down in a canal, courtesy of the syndicate. Iron City had a way of keeping people grounded—permanently.
The kid shifted uncomfortably, like he was already regretting the conversation. "That's all I got, man. Just… wanted to give you the heads-up."
Luka reached into his coat and pulled out a few crumpled bills, tossing them onto the bar. "You told me half of what you know," he said, his voice a low growl. "If you're holding back, now's the time."
The kid's eyes darted from the money to Luka's face, fingers itching to grab it, but he hesitated, chewing on his lip. "They're looking for someone," he whispered finally. "Some guy who's been poking around where he shouldn't. Private investigator, maybe. Didn't catch a name, but I thought… well, I thought of you."
Luka let the silence stretch, watching the kid squirm under his gaze. In Iron City, secrets were as dangerous as guns, and tonight, Luka felt like he was carrying both. If the syndicate was hunting him, it meant he'd gone too deep, even by his standards.
"Appreciate the warning," Luka said, his tone cold and measured. He pushed the bills across the bar. "Now get lost."
The kid didn't need a second invitation. He grabbed the cash and disappeared, casting one last, nervous glance over his shoulder before slipping out the door, as though he could shake off the weight of what he'd shared.
Luka stayed where he was, staring into his drink as his thoughts churned. Bodies with augments, people disappearing, and now the syndicate looking for someone like him. The bio-augmented man's hollow eyes hovered in his mind, those last words settling deeper into his bones. Nothing can stop what's coming. Whatever that meant, he was sure it had everything to do with the syndicate's new experiments.
Setting his empty glass down, he gave Gus a nod and slid off the stool. The dull scrape of leather and metal echoed in the silent haze of stale smoke and dim light. Behind him, the bar settled back into its silent, unspoken pact.
He'd have to dig deeper—close enough to the syndicate to find answers, and maybe close enough to get burned.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was just the beginning. Iron City wasn't the kind of place that let you dig deep and walk away. He pulled his coat tight, bracing himself as the rain fell like a quiet judgment.